The Future
by Cycle Pinsetter
Summary: It is the future.Tortall is in ruin. The Capital city Corus is now the center of a vast empire. Chaos reigns outside the city, and forced obedience reigns within. Each fief has become a slave plantation, where workers toil constantly to produce one good o
1. Default Chapter Title

_Author's note:_ I wrote this for the Steelsings RPG, so the characters will seem unfamiliar to you, but this is a chronicle of Tortall, so there are some redeeming qualities.The main theme is a dark look at Tortall's future.

_Disclaimer_: Tortall, and the family Conte belong to Tamora Pierce.Names of Places most likely belong to Tamora Pierce.Nael, Em, and Marc are characters of my own creation.Rin belongs to Roz, Fal to Ingrid, and Keiran to Mads, Ott and Yoric to Fio, Nar to Katy errr. Goldie to Goldie and I think that's it.

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# **~The Future~**

It is the future. Twenty-five years have passed since Queen Emily of the Rogue first ascended her throne. Many things have changed. Tortall is in ruin. The Capital city Corus is now the center of a vast empire. Chaos reigns outside the city, and forced obedience reigns within. Each fief has become a slave plantation, where workers toil constantly to produce one good or another. Life is harsh. Death is the only release. Every few years a story circulates about the better times. The times under King Jonathan. Where there was excess. The overlords do their best to quash these rumors before they reach the young one's ears. They are not successful.

Naelyn paused to wipe sweat from her brow, leaving a brown muddy streak across her forehead. She quickly looked over her shoulder, stealing a glance at the overlord, on the opposite side of the field. She breathed a sigh of relief. She needed a bath, a warm meal, and a new set of clothes, at the very least. But one thing she didn't need today was more trouble. Trouble was bad. Trouble meant beatings. Trouble mean deprivation from the few pleasures she did receive.

She quickly returned to her work, digging potatoes in the muddy soil. She was grateful to the overcast weather. The clouds neither held rain, nor allowed the sun to penetrate through them, and down upon the workers. Rain meant less work, and less work meant fewer potatoes. Fewer potatoes meant more beatings. Every punishment lead to another. 

Her mind strayed. She smiled to herself. Last night she broke one of the rules of the fief. Make that two. She would gladly do it again. She remembered huddling beneath the threadbare blanket, trying to conceal the light coming from her hand.

Now she didn't make the light appear for nothing. She was going to read. 

The old ones called it "The Gift," and they couldn't possibly be closer to the truth. This gift helped her read; it helped her escape. And it helped her heal herself when the lashes came. The Gods themselves must be watching over her. 

Naelyn had spent the night rereading a story about a woman knight. And the overlords hadn't caught her. She was able to hide her light as she carefully turned the pages of the warn book.

It wasn't meant to be a children's story, or even an adult's novel. It was a history, recounted concise, yet descriptive, on plain white (now yellowing) high-grade parchment. Across the binding, formerly in gold lettering, proclaimed "Biography: Sir Alanna Of Trebond and Pirate's Swoop." Naelyn cherished the book. After all, it was the only one she had. The only thing that bothered her was that it wasn't finished. The author had halted his or her account in mid-sentence. Naelyn had spent hour upon hour, finishing that sentence in her head, wishing that she knew what the author was going to write.

Nael felt a boot at the back of her neck. She opened her eyes quickly, cursing herself. She had fallen asleep. 

"Stand up girl." A harsh voice ordered her.

She obeyed, keeping her eyes to the ground. 

"We've had trouble with you before. This is what? The fourth time this week?" He jeered at her and spit on her face. He called over to one of his companions.

"Fell asleep while working. Sleeping on the job! Worthless!"

Now she had really done it. They were going to kill her. Or they were going to do even worse they would--

"Send her to 'Caynn." The newcomer laughed. "Let the rats chewing on her ears wake her up. Or the stench from the sewage."

"Good idea, man" The first guy said. "Sir Overlord's sending some wretches up to Port Caynn in the morning. I believe there's an extra spot.

The second man laughed again. "There's always a spot, always ten more spots, it depends how tight you pack them."

"True True" The first man replied.


	2. Default Chapter Title

_Author's note:_ I wrote this for the Steelsings RPG, so the characters will seem unfamiliar to you, but this is a chronicle of Tortall, so there are some redeeming qualities.The main theme is a dark look at Tortall's future.

_Furthermore:_ This story was written about a year and a half ago, and it is already finishedso when you ask for me to write more, I simply need to post the next part.I'm posting it in installments to weigh the reactions and reviewsand things definitely get a better response if posted in installments, as you all probably know.Also, if there's a part you don't understand (something that I've assumed you should know, and was mistaken) please tell me so I can clarify my writing.One more thing, the Character Falcon's accent is a little screwyat one point he's understandable, and at another he isn't.I didn't realize this until a year and a half later.I think it stabilized in the last few chapters, but I apologize for thisneed to edit itbut that's far down on my list of writing tasks.

_Disclaimer_: Tortall, and the family Conte belong to Tamora Pierce.Names of Places most likely belong to Tamora Pierce.Nael, Em, and Marc are characters of my own creation.Rin belongs to Roz, Fal to Ingrid, and Keiran to Mads, Ott and Yoric to Fio, Nar to Katy errr. Goldie to Goldie and I think that's it.

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# **~The Future:Two~**

Fief Trebond was a farming community. She had lived there all her life, all 15 years, for as long as she could remember. She had never known her parents. She had grown up in the dormitories with dozens of other children like her. And some not like her.

She had been bunkmates with a girl who could taught her how to read. Nael never learned her name, because the girl told her that if anyone knew her name, she would die. She knew everything about the place, where the guards hid the keys, and where the books were held. The History was the copper-haired girl's book, and when they took the girl away, Nael hid the book. She protected it ever since, thinking that the book was the one that got the girl taken away. The book was hers. There was only one piece of evidence of a previous owner. On the back cover, in neat, precise handwriting, was written "His Majesty's Scribe Keiran."

Nael hid the book in her shirt when they stuffed her into the cart. The guardsmen did not notice. Port Caynn. Where they enslave you in the stuffy ship building factories, where the air is so saturated with coal dust, it is un-breathable. Where you can go days without seeing the sky, the grass, trees. One step lower on the ladder of life. The bunkhouses are so crowded that the bunks are stacked five high, or more. And you think rats can't get up there. But you are wrong. 

Nael tried not to think of it. She tried to think of Alanna, the king's champion. What would Alanna do in a situation like this?

The ride from Trebond to Port Caynn was fairly long, and Nael soon grew cold as the moon rose over the cart. She was still thinking of Alanna, the heroine. Nael's hands became numb. _Just a little bit_ She thought. She would use her gift to warm her hands. Yes.

She started to weave bluish, almost green magic, with a touch of gold, her hands warming immediately. She began to feel sleepy, and let her eyelids grow heavy. Soon she was drifting asleep...

Nael was awoken painfully as she felt herself being thrown upside-down and dragged. She realized that she was still in the cart. She heard a splinter of wood the cart came to a jarring stop. She heard shouts, and muffled cries from outside as well as inside the cart. Suddenly the mangled cart was lifted from their heads.

It was only a guard, but Nael was startled. When she reached up to defend herself, blue-green fire shot out from her fingers, burning the man's face. Nael took this opportunity to run. She heard shouts behind her, but never stopped to look back. She stumbled on a rock and scraped her hands and knees on the jagged ground, but she jerked herself back onto her feet and running. During the early hours of night, her malnutrition finally caught up to her, and she collapsed from her walk (for that was what it had dwindled down to), and tumbled behind some bushes and feel deeply into sleep.

She awoke stiff, and sore in the afternoon sunlight. Nael stumbled to her feet. She pulled the book from under her shirt. Now it wasn't a matter of hiding her book, but hiding herself.

She looked out across the landscape. Lightly rolling coastal hills. A salty fragrance drifted through the air on a light breeze. She took a few shaky steps and climbed up a steep hill. Over the hill in the distance, lie the walls of a city, and to the right of those walls, a vast expanse of water. The sea. She had reached the sea. And the city was port Caynn.

Nael ran blindly to the shore and stared out at the sea. She was enthralled by its beauty. She must have spent fifteen minutes staring out at the water. Then she looked back at the city walls. That was when she heard the voice behind her.

"You don't want to go there."

Nael turned around. A cloaked man stood before her. The wind blew his hood back but Nael couldn't tell his age. His deep blue eyes were weary, as if he'd been through many hard times, but Nael saw a glitter, somewhere. His short dark golden hair was graying around the edges, and a few lines hatched his face, but Nael could tell that he once had been--and still was--very handsome.

"Why?" Nael looked past him, into the sea.

"S' too dangerous" He drawled. "E'en I know to 'void it. You'll n'er escape. They'll git ya for good." His eyes darted around nervously. He lowered his voice. She could barely hear it over the rising wind 

" 'Ere is a place you 'ould go." He blinked. All of a sudden his voice became clear.

"Corus. It's worth a try." He whispered. His voice became sad. "I haven't been back there ever since it became occupied.

"But who are you?" Nael asked. "Why are you here? Giving me advice?"

"I am a friend" He replied. 

"My friend? I have no friends." Nael said simply. "I seek only my parents, or a clue to who they were."

"Come, we shall see."

The man began to chant a spell over the two. Nael looked startled.

"An invisibility spell. This'll hide us. We're not too far from Corus anyways."

Nael followed the man blindly, for she was not sure what to do. 


	3. Default Chapter Title

_Author's note: _I wrote this for the Steelsings RPG, so the characters will seem unfamiliar to you, but this is a chronicle of Tortall, so there are some redeeming qualities. The main theme is a dark look at Tortall's future.

_Furthermore: _This story was written about a year and a half ago, and it is already finishedso when you ask for me to write more, I simply need to post the next part.

I'm posting it in installments to weigh the reactions and reviewsand things definitely get a better response if posted in installments, as you all probably know. Also, if there's a part you don't understand (something that I've assumed you should know, and was mistaken) please tell me so I can clarify my writing. One more thing, the Character Falcon's accent is a little screwyat one point he's understandable, and at another he isn't. I didn't realize this until a year and a half later. I think it stabilized in the last few chapters, but I apologize for thisneed to edit itbut that's far down on my list of writing tasks.

_Disclaimer:_ Tortall, Alanna, George, and the family Conte belong to Tamora Pierce. Names of Places most likely belong to Tamora Pierce. Nael, Em, and Marc are characters of my own creation. Rin belongs to Roz, Fal to Ingrid, and Keiran to Mads, Ott and Yoric to Fio, Nar to Katy errr. Goldie to Goldie and I think that's it.

# **~The Future: Three~**

Before Naelyn stoped to think, the two of them were slipping silently through the gates of Corus, past two unsuspecting guards. The man walked hurriedly down the crowded city streets. The houses became less and less grand, until finally, they were broken down slums. The man halted, and dropped the invisibility spell abruptly. Naelyn followed his eyes to a broken sign. She could barely make out the word 'Realms.'

The gold-haired man stepped over a fallen board, and through the doorway of the building. It looked much bigger--and much cleaner--on the inside. Nael looked around. Much to clean to be an abandoned building. Not like she was an expert on abandoned buildings or anything.

Suddenly there was a voice, and a knife was being held at her throat.

"Don't move, or you'll find yourself carpeting the floor."

The man was bending over to inspect a bottle that looked like it had been laying on the floor for about 25 years. A crossbow was now aimed at his back. He twisted around to see the owner of the voice.

It was a short dark-haired woman, who looked like she was about to slay an entire army, instead of just a middle-aged man and a scrawny 17 year old girl. The woman's short and unruly hair showed little sign of graying. Her sharp brown eyes stared at the two angrily, but when she met the eyes of Nael's guide, her eyebrows arched in surprise.

"Falcon Startredder, you --" Lets out a string of curses. "What the hell brings you here?" She dropped the knife from under Nael's throat and ran to hug him."

The man--Falcon--couldn't help grinning. 

"I was just in the neighborhood, though I'd drop by. Just like ol' times Rin."

The woman called Rin snorted. 

"Like old times Startredder, sure. And who's this you brought with you?" Her critical gaze turned towards Naelyn.

"Was still glowin' when I found her. Has the gift. at's why I brought er along."

"Really?" Rin stared closer. The girl had straight light brown hair, and medium blue eyes.

"Well I'll be damned. I thought they exterminated em all." She rubbed her chin. "Can she help us?"

"I don't think so." Naelyn spoke up. "I'm not trained."

"Well a' course you're not trained!" The woman exclaimed. "According to is high exultedness you're not alive, much less trained." She thought for a while. "Startredder, who exactly did you have in mind for training her?" Her eyes narrowed.

Falcon looked away, awkwardly.

"If you're hintin' at somethingor someONE, then perhaps you should go out and say it. I'm not known for my patience Startredder.

"I'm not un to be the peacekeeper, but maybe you better talk to her?"

"If you think I'm going to talk to that red-haired mage, you are sadly mistaken my friend." Rin pushed past him to close the door. Naelyn watched with interest.

"You can stay here girl. What do you call yourself"

"Naelyn—or Nael."

"Very well, Nael. Been plenty of extra rooms since—for a long time." Frowns at Falcon. "I don't know about training, but we will give you food and shelter.

"Its getting dark." Rin yawns. "And we can't afford to stay up all hours of the night. Not since Em's day have we had one day of peace.

Falcon nods, and doesn't say anything. 

Nael pauses. 

"Who are you?" She asks Rin. Rin frowns and lets out a sigh.

"The Queen of thieves, if that means anything to you. It used to mean plenty. Now its like being landlord of an abandoned lot."

"Thieves? Like George Cooper?" Nael asked. Falcon looked startled.

"Cooper? Just how ya learn about 'im?"

Rin furrowed her brow in thought. "Yeah, just how did you know 'bout Cooper?"

Nael showed them her book, which eloquently explained even the touchy subject of Alanna's marriage to the King of thieves. 

Rin took the book and inspected the cover. She paged through it with much interest, until she came to the back cover.

"Where did you get this?" She asked sharply, keeping her hands tightly around the book.

"One of my friends gave it to me, ten years ago."

Rin showed the name on the back of the book to falcon, who's eyes grew wide. He muttered a few curse words.

"Few books survived the collapse of Tortall, and at least one is a boring history by the Scribe. Gods." Rin handed the book back to Nael. "Keep it safe."

"I will." Nael said quietly.


	4. Default Chapter Title

_Author's note: _I wrote this for the Steelsings RPG, so the characters will seem unfamiliar to you, but this is a chronicle of Tortall, so there are some redeeming qualities. The main theme is a dark look at Tortall's future.

_Furthermore: _This story was written about a year and a half ago, and it is already finishedso when you ask for me to write more, I simply need to post the next part.

I'm posting it in installments to weigh the reactions and reviewsand things definitely get a better response if posted in installments, as you all probably know. Also, if there's a part you don't understand (something that I've assumed you should know, and was mistaken) please tell me so I can clarify my writing. One more thing, the Character Falcon's accent is a little screwyat one point he's understandable, and at another he isn't. I didn't realize this until a year and a half later. I think it stabilized in the last few chapters, but I apologize for thisneed to edit itbut that's far down on my list of writing tasks.

_Disclaimer:_ Tortall, Alanna, George, and the family Conte belong to Tamora Pierce. Names of Places most likely belong to Tamora Pierce. Nael, Em, and Marc are characters of my own creation. Rin belongs to Roz, Fal to Ingrid, and Keiran to Mads, Ott and Yoric to Fio, Nar to Katy errr. Goldie to Goldie and I think that's it.

# **~The Future: Four~**

At one time in history, the Tortallan palace libraries had been open to everyone. People could easily walk in and retrieve desired information, and walk out, without even a second look from the guards by the door. Now the library was a vault, with steel doors. Few people were allowed in besides the archivist. The library was covered in dust. The only purpose it served was to keep the books in, and to keep people out. It wasn't a library; it was a prison.

The archivist paged through an ancient book in the dim candlelight and sighed. His grey-blue eyes were tired with dark circles under them. He was middle aged, but his eyes made him look young. His skin was pale from his time spent in the vault, under candlelight. 

He abruptly closed the book and set his eyeglasses on top of it. Those damn glasses. He hadn't needed them until he started working in that cursed vault. He would give everything to just to walk the streets of Corus for five minutes. Instead, he was followed closely everywhere he went in the palace, morning to night. He didn't get along with the guards, and Carthaki's never did understand sarcasm. He should have just kept his mouth shut, and maybe he wouldn't still be followed everywhere he went.

He really was quite lucky, professionally, that is. He was his majesty's head scribe when the Carthakians invaded Tortall, and he knew where everything was located in the library. The Emperor him needed to handle the books. He would never be executed; he was too useful. The Emperor treated him fairly and claimed that he couldn't leave the palace or communicate with anyone, for his own protection. Protection from what? Death?

He glared at the guard as he exited the vault, and locked it. He then proceeded to his rooms, where the guards locked the door promptly. He wished his magic was strong enough to break the lock. His magic was never extremely powerful in the first place, but regardless, confinement of spirit didn't encourage magical power.

He had been able to keep his former apartments, after they had been searched, of course. He sat down at his easel and began to paint on the canvas with steady strokes. Before he only painted occasionally. Now he used his paints to recapture lost memories. Around his room he had stacks to paintings, some good, some not so good. His present work he had been painting intermittently on for several months. He hoped it would be his best yet.

He squinted at the portrait's face. His eyes went blurry. Tears? He wiped his eyes. He couldn't see her face any longer. He was losing her face. He couldn't paint anymore.

He got up and walked to the window, opening the shutters. The harsh wind blew on his face. He looked down. It was a straight drop. Maybe he thought it would have changed from the last time he looked. Maybe he thought there would be a tree or lattice, or something to aid his descent. No. Nothing.

A heavy gust of wind blew through the window making the curtains thrash wildly. He watched in horror as the shaky easel tipped over, smearing the oil on the painting. He stared at the painting with detached disbelief.


	5. Default Chapter Title

_Author's note: _I wrote this for the Steelsings RPG, so the characters will seem unfamiliar to you, but this is a chronicle of Tortall, so there are some redeeming qualities. The main theme is a dark look at Tortall's future.

_Furthermore: _This story was written about a year and a half ago, and it is already finishedso when you ask for me to write more, I simply need to post the next part.

I'm posting it in installments to weigh the reactions and reviewsand things definitely get a better response if posted in installments, as you all probably know. Also, if there's a part you don't understand (something that I've assumed you should know, and was mistaken) please tell me so I can clarify my writing. One more thing, the Character Falcon's accent is a little screwyat one point he's understandable, and at another he isn't. I didn't realize this until a year and a half later. I think it stabilized in the last few chapters, but I apologize for thisneed to edit itbut that's far down on my list of writing tasks.

_Disclaimer:_ Tortall, Alanna, George, and the family Conte belong to Tamora Pierce. Names of Places most likely belong to Tamora Pierce. Nael, Em, and Marc are characters of my own creation. Rin belongs to Roz, Fal to Ingrid, and Keiran to Mads, Ott and Yoric to Fio, Nar to Katy errr. Goldie to Goldie and I think that's it.

# **~The Future: Five~**

Narcissa Blaze paced in her rooms at the Tortallan Palace. She had come with a diplomatic party from Nadia. She was beginning to regret it.

The city was not even a shadow of its former self. The guards would not allow her to step one foot on the outside ground. There were magical barriers around the palace that couldn't even be broken by her elemental magic. She had thought that maybe she would be able to find some old friends. But she had no friends in the palace anymore. She had to get out of there.

She stormed out the door, and past the guards

"Pardon Lady Blaze. You aren't permitted to roam the palace alone."

Narcissa looked at the guard skeptically.

"I am not called Lady Blaze. And—"she continued. "I will go wherever I darn well please. Thank you.

She pushed past the guards. They didn't follow her. Stupid. They probably thought she was some air headed wife of a diplomat.

As she walked down the heavily guarded hallways of the palace, she tried to think back at the beginning. Were there any signs of diplomatic tensions between Tortall and Carthak? Em hadn't said a word, though she hadn't seen much of her or Keiran in the last days of King Jonathan. Was it because there was no word? Or didn't Em notice?

Nar looked up and realized she had walked to the lower levels of the palace. She saw movement of a figure in front of her. She hid in the shadows and followed him.

She followed the figure deeper and deeper into the underground tunnels of the palace. She dared not use her magic to light the way, lest she be noticed. So she stumbled around in the dark, silently cursing in Nadian. Luckily the figured didn't appear to notice. She only had her dagger to defend herself.

She pushed her long red hair back from her face. Her friends would probably think she was silly, dressed diplomatic attire, hair lose. She silently laughed at herself. Where were her friends now? They didn't have Nadia to return to for asylum. They had just begun to disappear when someone gave her some good advice and she left Tortall. Some people had criticized her for that. Narcissa Blaze still stood by her decision.

Em was out at Keiran's estates in the country, so the newborn child could spent its first years away from the harshness of city life. Keiran was wrapping up some work at the palace. She didn't even learn if the child was a boy or a girl, or the nameor anything. The next thing she knew, the palace was being seized and fled.

Nar heard a splash. Suddenly she noticed the underground water supply a few feet away from her. The river flowed into a dark tunnel in the wall. She quickly searched the tunnel for the magic barrier. There was none, as she suspected. No mage could harness a river. Nar made an impulsive decision. She jumped into the river.

She was not prepared to swim two miles underwater through a tunnel only a few inches wider than herself. But her days at traveling with the Rogue had prepared her for holding her breath for long periods of time.

Of all things the Rogue taught me, its this. I never thought it would come in handy. She swam on more. So this is why there was no barrier. She thought about a one and a half miles through. You're not likely to survive the swim.

A few minutes later, she slid out of the tunnel, into the dim moonlight. Nar lifted her head out of the water and clung to the riverbank, only to find a very sharp sword hovering not far from her chin. Her elusive figure was standing, dry, on the riverbank.

"Kill me." She sputtered. "Though it won't bring you anything."

The figure—a man, steps into the light. Nar sees his face and her eyes grow wide.

"How I have waited for this day Swamp monster. Though I don't think I can bring myself to do it." He says sadly.

"Scribe!" Nar exclaims.


	6. Default Chapter Title

_Author's note_: I wrote this for the Steelsings RPG, so the characters will seem unfamiliar to you, but this is a chronicle of Tortall, so there are some redeeming qualities. The main theme is a dark look at Tortall's future.

_Furthermore_: This story was written about a year and a half ago, and it is already finishedso when you ask for me to write more, I simply need to post the next part.

I'm posting it in installments to weigh the reactions and reviewsand things definitely get a better response if posted in installments, as you all probably know. Also, if there's a part you don't understand (something that I've assumed you should know, and was mistaken) please tell me so I can clarify my writing. One more thing, the Character Falcon's accent is a little screwyat one point he's understandable, and at another he isn't. I didn't realize this until a year and a half later. I think it stabilized in the last few chapters, but I apologize for thisneed to edit itbut that's far down on my list of writing tasks.

_Disclaimer_: Tortall, Alanna, George, and the family Conte belong to Tamora Pierce. Names of Places most likely belong to Tamora Pierce. Nael, Em, and Marc are characters of my own creation. Rin belongs to Roz, Fal to Ingrid, and Keiran to Mads, Ott and Yoric to Fio, Nar to Katy errr. Goldie to Goldie and I think that's it.

~Six~

She took one step and she was surrounded by vast green hills, as far as her eye could see. There was no natural sound. No birds, no streams, only saintly music, filling her ears, enveloping her senses. She turned to look behind her. She was standing on a precipice overlooking a boundless city, stretching into the distance, with towering spires, extending into the clouds, gently brushing the Realms of the Gods, gently reminding the Gods of human presence.

And she knew there was someone behind her, but the presence was comforting. She didn't turn around, not yet. But as she stepped back and squinted to see the landscape better, her vision began to grow dim, and the music became louder. As the panorama dissolved around her, she turned to see his eyes, desperate as she disappeared. She cried out, above the music, echoing through the empty hills and the city at her feet. 

Only the music remained. She had fallen asleep again. She had dreamed again.

The drawing paper in front of her lay untouched. She could not conjure up the vision of a bright summer day, or the Corus marketplace teeming with people from all lands. The dreams took those memories from her mind and brought them to life, but only to wave them in front of her nose. The unattainable goal. And after each dream of the past, a piece of her soul was torn from her. 

She swept a hand over her shoulder, as if to straighten her hair, only to remember that what remained of golden-blond hair hung within a few inches of her skull. What a pity. Although there was no need for lengthy hair in the City of the Gods, she missed it. Few mirrors existed in the city. They were simply obsolete. Her hair was a part of who she was. _He_ liked her hair.

But Emily was not who she used to be. She used to be Queen, wife, mother, and friend. She was none of these things. At the city she was student, or child. She was humble servant to the Gods. But who was she inside? 

She was hiding--that much was for certain. Before the fall of the kingdom, Emily was considered to be a powerful player in Tortallan politics--even if only from behind the scenes. If the Carthaki army was to succeed in taking over Tortall completely, they had to take the Rogue as well. But why was she hiding? Why wasn't she out fighting for her cause, risking her life to save her kingdom and her people? Why wasn't her voice heard above all others as the rebels charged to meet the forces of the Carthaki army head on, with lightening fast reflexes and courage and bravery. In other words, why wasn't she dead? 

Because the Goddess's servants had rescued her, and hid her, when she lay dying on the road. They had healed her, and protected her, and given her the gift of sight when all she could conjure was darkness. And the nights where she thrashed violently, she was calmed by a soothing, cool hand upon her brow, and a voice from the Realms.

Eventually she had quieted the dreams, the memories given animation by her unconscious mind, yearning for distraction from the dull tasks of everyday life in the city. She had managed to create a dormant state of mind, where thoughts ceased, and a dismal plain engulfed her. This state had been present in her dreams for years, up until this morning.

Emily rose from her bench, leaving her drawing paper still untouched. She hurried to the temple, the source of the music.


End file.
